He had stridden away without saying a word. Should
I have held my tongue? Memories of the days gone by suddenly came to my mind.
We have been playing with fire, especially me, acting like fools without
thinking of the consequences. I was very confused, I had been since he came
into my life, and his childish behaviour wasn’t helping me to make up my mind.

“I’m a person, you know? You don't have the right
to treat me like shit!”

I lit a cigarette and took a seat at his
kitchen table. Having a key to his house wasn’t fair since he hasn’t one to
mine, and, of course, breaking into his house without permission was definitively
blameworthy, but I couldn’t help myself. We needed to clear the situation, and
waiting for him to come back home seemed to me the best way to achieve my goal.

But what was I gonna say to him? We had had sex
a couple of times and it was great, but I wasn’t sure whether I had feelings
for him or not. After all, he was a man and I was a lesbian. I liked to spend
my free time with him once in a while, especially in bed, but did that mean
that I liked him? He was nothing more than a French posh, a lawyer to whom my
brother and his friend had directed all their anger, a mannered gentleman who
had treated me like the Lady I’ve never been since the first time we met. The
truth is that I didn’t deserve a person like him. Moreover, I’ve never asked
for a person like him.

I heard the key in the door and a moment later
the penetrating scent of the cigar led him to the kitchen. My heart started to
beat at full speed. Would Armand kick me out of his house or would he show me
some mercy?

“What are you doing here, Iuta?”, he inquired, irritation
taking control of his voice. “By the way, I want my key back”.

He took out his coat and left it on the table
without looking at me. I swallowed hard. This wasn’t gonna be easy at all.

“I don’t want things to end up like this”.

“Alors tu
m’aimes?”, he asked ironically. I hated when he talked to me in French ‘cause
I didn’t understand shit. He knew it and that seemed to amuse him.

“It would be very kind of you to talk to me in
a language I could understand, you know? My mother tongue is German, but I try
to…”

“You have forgotten the German language, my Lady”, he interrupted me, emphasizing
with disdain the word “Lady”. “That’s why you don’t use it anymore”.

“I was seven when my parents brought me here. Since
then, I have always spoken English. Even with my family…”

“I don’t give a fuck about your linguistic
problems, you know”, he interrupted me again, agitation growing stronger inside
him. “The only thing I really care about right now is that I want you to get
the fuck out of my house”, he added, shouting at me with all the insane fury he
was capable of.

“I don’t want to lose you as a friend, Armand”,
I replied, with weak voice, tears filling up my eyes.

A long silence between us followed those words.
Armand’s eyes were fixed on mine, devouring with them my flesh and soul, making
me feel as a vulgar peace of cake. I wanted to yell at him, I wanted to cry, I
wanted to run away from him… But above all, I wanted to wrap my hands around
his neck, with a desperate need.

“I don’t want to be your friend, Iuta”, he
finally said, this time in a faked quite tone. I could tell he was trying to control
himself, his French chivalry reminded him that I was a Lady and therefore he had to show me his respect.

I nodded once, feeling my heart breaking into
small pieces.

“Very well. Then, farewell, monsieur”.

He didn’t answer. I didn’t care. I turned
towards the door, Armand’s last words resonating in my mind with all their
intensity: “I don’t want to be your friend, Iuta”.